


Unbuckled at the (Bible) Belt

by cinderadler



Category: Preacher (TV)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Angst, Awkward Conversations, Awkward Flirting, Awkwardness, Biting, Crushes, Fights, First Kiss, Fluff, Love Bites, M/M, Masturbation, Neck Kissing, One Night Stands, Secret Relationship, Sweet
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-06
Updated: 2016-07-06
Packaged: 2018-07-22 00:23:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,158
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7411087
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cinderadler/pseuds/cinderadler
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Keep a lid on it, eh, Preacher?” He smiled. “And pray for me, won't ye.” Cassidy touched two fingers to Jesse's split and swollen lower lip, examining it. "Guys like me have a habit of getting in a bad way."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Unbuckled at the (Bible) Belt

**Author's Note:**

> I'm in love with this show.  
> So I wrote.
> 
> It's a long a sprawling thing told through months of Sundays, and other days, but mainly Sundays.
> 
> Comment and complain or love me. Kudos and keep me smiling. Do you, and be happy.
> 
> Love ♡

**Sunday 14th**

He looks at the reflection of the sunlight on the whiskey bottle on the table. Even from the wrong angle it hurts his eyes. Lying sideways, it hurts to keep his eyes open for too long. It has been two, maybe three, weeks. Less than a month, definitely. His head stings when he moves it, his eyes are swimming in his head. Jesse is back on the sauce.  He closes his eyes for a moment and rolls over onto his back before summoning the effort and will to stand. He sits up first, raising his body up on his elbows then shielding his eyes from the rays of sunlight peeking through his cracked blinds. He rolls over to get out of bed and finds that his feet don’t catch him quickly enough. He falls on the floor with a groan and a soft thud, and a sigh as he stands up at last.

“God dammit.” He grumbles quietly, still shielding his eyes.

Annville exists around the good Reverend Custer. People come and gp, and still never come to church. Some get close enough to pray and complain on one or two Sundays a month. The preacher gets by on his own. By the bottle and the book, he keeps Annville’s two or three good hearts good. And the rest? He keeps them in business.

Jesse does his belt up as he stands up, pulling his trousers up from where they’ve slipped down to. He scowls at his stomach after he runs his hand across it and feels a spatter of slightly tauter skin where he had come over himself last night between the fourth and fifth glass of whiskey. The sunlight somehow offsets the sorriness of his situation. Besides, today is a new day. Souls needed saving, most of all his.

He tugs hard at the string cord of his blinds and closes his eyes, letting the blinding sunlight bathe him.

“Jaysis, do ye’ bloody mind?” Sunday has come again.

 

**Sunday 7th**

Jesse has a shower before his sermon on Sunday, even thought he knows it won’t matter a damn bit because all four of his parishioners couldn’t care any less if they see him with damp hair. Every Sunday, Emily looks across from the organ at him when he isn’t paying rapt attention to his speech cards. Their eyes meet in the heat; hers full of a soft and pitying sadness that she doesn’t quite mean (not in the way it comes across, anyway), his full of fatigue and a childish warmth that he reserves for her. They could be star-crossed and simple lovers in another life and another time, if Jesse were a simpler man and if Emily weren’t so unlucky.

 

 

-

The day becomes the night. He notices the reflection of the sunlight become moonlight in the bottle of whiskey on the table. Rinse the glass and repeat: the night becomes the day. Jesse Custer is up and fighting again. He’ll spend a few days a week like this. This day marked a week of being back off the wagon; so, naturally, he spends the evening in a bar in the west of town. He passes the diner Emily works at part-time on his way to a drink, watching a street fight absentmindedly in his rear view when he stops at a red light. He watches the night pass him by as he drives.

He’s been sitting, minding his own business as usual, when the night becomes something it isn’t supposed to. But, that’s what always happens when a proud man’s pride is threatened. He chokes. Swallow or spit: either way Jesse’s got a mouthful of pride and he was always going to choke on it before he knows better. Donny had goaded him, but Jesse threw the first punch. He’s condemned in the eyes of the law, so he had might as well go to town on Donny before the long arm of the law wades in. The men and few women around the pair part as they brawl, making noises but no actions to help either side. After two or three heavy punches either way, Donny manages to grab the preacher. Jesse notices a strange, thin man down the rest of his scotch at the bar as Donny pins him to the ground. He knees Donny in the stomach and tries to force his hand by slamming his arm through Donny’s wrist as Donny loses his balance while Jesse regains his. The reverend’s sense of injustice raises against the slim Scotch thief as well as Donny now. As he catches himself, Jesse notices the pale, thin man who was just at the bar move towards the telephone on the bar counter. Donny takes advantage of the preacher’s distraction and grabs Jesse’s leg. The Preacher slips and reaches out to grasp the larger man, swinging at him as he scrambles up as best he can.  
“I didn’t ask for this, Donny.” Jesse growls as he pulls himself up, swinging at Donny again but this time missing.

“And look what you get still, Preacher.” Donny yells, grabbing Jesse by the throat. Jesse begins to cough, heaving for air against the chokehold of Donny’s hand on his throat. He can hear and feel the thump of his heart in his head as it pounds against the soft but direct tread of footsteps. Before he can stop himself, Jesse’s head hits the wooden floor as Donny is pulled away from above him. Jesse watches on in slight disbelief as Donny is dragged back off him by the pale, slim Scotch thief who has him gagged with the bar’s telephone cord around his neck.

“Now, that’s unfair. He’s a man of the cloth. That’s a bit of a dick move, mate.” He hears the man holding the phone say. Jesse notices his distinct accent colouring his words. Jesse stumbles up to his feet and regains his posture, throwing four or five sharp punches at Donny’s face and stomach, winding him. _He is losing it_. He can feel his head begin to pound. Maybe he should have removed the dog collar before he’d come out tonight? He’s gotten blood on it. The preacher, in a fit of rage, snaps the bone Donny’s forearm. The feeling passes immediately and he feels himself run cold for a second with the crystal clear understanding of what he has just done. Donny screams, understandably. Jesse feels sick suddenly and throws a punch without really thinking. He hits the pale man in the face, breaking his nose. The Irishman makes a noise, a cross between appalled and impressed, and simply continues wrestling Donny to the floor ignoring the blood flowing from his nose. Jesse watches him, almost bewitched, and loses his footing as he is suddenly grabbed by two hands and yanked backwards. The police have finally made it.

“You fight dirty, don’t you, Preacher?” The pasty Irishman cackles. His voice is thick and comforting in some way. He smells like iron and the half a glass of Scotch of Jesse’s he’d necked. Jesse watches him land one last hard punch on Donny’s jaw, settling the room like a child’s scream at a party.

“You quite finished Preacher?” Sheriff Root barks at Jesse.

“Quite.” Jesse murmurs, out of breath and angry but strangely calm as he flexes his fingers, feeling the cuffs getting slapped around his wrists.

From there, the night improves only in the degree that it becomes quieter. Jesse and the Irishman sit in a cell in Annville County Jail. One of the overhead fluorescent strip lights has blown and is badly substituted with half-assed moonlight leaking in through the small, barred window. The peace and quiet doesn’t last long.

 “Proinsias Cassidy. Cassandra to my friends. Pleasure to meet ye’.” The bleeding Irishman introduces.

“Jesse. Custer. Sorry about the nose.” Jesse offers reticently.

“Ah, think nothing of it. Sticks and stones.” Cassidy lets a smile form on his face, flashing his teeth in the dim light of the cell. Jesse notices his teeth and feels like this man has a few more than most in Annville. “I just saw you out there and it just didn’t sit right to see a good man such as yourself fight the good fight alone.”

“A good man? Mister, you’re not even close.” Jesse laughs half-heartedly, catching something honest in the eyes of this liar that he clings to. He can’t guarantee his Irish cellmate is a liar but there is something about the easy way he speaks which betrays him He talks himself into corners and imaginary hiding places, Jesse’s sure. This man has troubles, Jesse senses, and he was not alone.

“Fine. A ‘good’ man by which I mean: as good a man as I am, because I measured you against me.”

“Ahh, well, that’s some comfort.” Jesse’s words are playful. “You’re a pinnacle of goodness, I saw. Stealing my Scotch without a second’ thought.” Jesse states, teasing but looking for answers.

“Padre, would you deny a man a drink? I was thirsty.” Cassidy exaggerates.

“Thirsty for blood maybe.” Jesse strikes a nerve without realising as he shifts his weight closer to Cassidy, feeling the coldness of the cell as the buzz of the Scotch and adrenaline wears off.

“Please. You did more damage to him than I did.” Cassidy jokes, raising his fists playfully. “And, what gave it away?” He asks, curious but slightly on the offensive.

“What gave what away?” Jesse answers, genuinely confused by Cassidy’s question. “Cassandra?”

“No, ye’ eejit.”  Cassidy grins easily, readjusting his body to sit up on his elbows as he looks at Jesse. “And you really believed that? Man, you’re easier that I thought. Cassidy is just fine.”

“I ain’t no sucker, Cassidy. I just listen for a living.”

“Oh, it’s a hard job, I’m sure. I’m not saying it’s not.” He has a storybook voice: the kind that made you want to listen, even if you knew it was lies he was feeding you. “I can’t imagine how many I’d get through before I smacked one of ‘dem.” He speaks more to himself than Jesse for that remark. “I’m just saying, I thought you’d assume I was jokin’.”

“Kinda, but it’s not my place to judge. That’s for God.”

“Ohh! You’re so serious! But, how can I expect you not to be?” Cassidy smiles and sits up. “But, I’m intrigued. Can I try somethin’ a second? Would ye mind?” There is a charming cautiousness to the way Cassidy speaks which Jesse finds hard to resist. “I want to prove somethin’ to meself.”

“What do you wanna’ try?”

“Somethin’ quick. If you don’t like it say stop, alright. Ground rules.”

Jesse is as intrigued as he is wary of Cassidy’s offer. He feels something in his stomach twist as his lip quivers ever so slightly. Maybe it’s the last of the Scotch working it’s way out of his system.  
“May I?” Cassidy asks. “You can close your eyes if you like surprises?” His whispered suggestion had an even heavier accent as he tries to speak quieter.

”Okay.” Jesse concedes, watching quietly as Cassidy moves once Jesse allows him. He waits for what he thinks will come: the quiet brief moment of calmness in his headache of a day. The short moment of clarity distils the noise of alcohol and sorry, sinless confessions that have filled the last week of this life. Cassidy kisses him.

His lips are gentle as he tests the water, becoming a little more forceful as Jesse reciprocates instinctively. He tries to imagine someone else as Cassidy kisses him but can’t.  He is overwhelmed by the taste of neat Scotch and old coffee. There is a pang of iron in there but Jesse thinks it tastes more like coffee. Jesse kisses the cocky Irishman back slowly as he relaxes into Cassidy’s hands as they reach up and rests one around his neck and one hooked through his belt loops to negotiate the man’s weight as he tips Jesse’s torso back slightly. Jesse’s hands automatically match Cassidy’s, but the hand on Cassidy’s belt feels for the bench beneath them to support himself. The hand around Cassidy’s slim, gaunt neck slips down from his bloodied collar to his stomach carefully. Jesse feels his fingers tease under Cassidy’s t-shirt and brush his fairly cold skin. Cassidy, in turn, smiles cockily as he kisses Jesse with a little more pressure, sinking his teeth into the reverend’s lower lip until it splits and he sucks it. He drags his mouth from Jesse’s freshly bleeding lips to his stretched neck. He presses a long, open-mouthed kiss on the hollow of Jesse’s cold throat but stops before he presses another, collecting himself. Cassidy opens his eyes and pulls back, evening  out his breathing to what it was before he transgressed a little. He watches Jesse open his eyes and adjust his collar.

“I knew it.” Cassidy smirks. “You’re not as stiff as you look. Well--” He meets Jesse’s eyes and looks down to the preacher’s crotch. “If I get rid of that for ye’, would ye’ put in a good word for me with the big man?”

“Woah now, cowboy. Slow down.” Jesse moves back reactively, feeling the tension creep back into his muscles. “Anyway, what we you proving it for, you’re in here in the first place ‘cause you watched me throw down in a bar fight.” He tries to distract the pale Irishman’s attention from his semi.

“Ahh, nice to be caged up with a true believer.” Cassidy laughs, easing his body back to lean against the wall, sinking into the shadows around him.

“Hey-” Jesse warns him, his breath catches in his throat a little.

“No, I’m just sayin’. You’re right. It’s not every day you see a man of God in the middle of a bar fight he started. I respect that.” He splays his hands out, palms down, and looks Jesse in the eye. “Honest? I confess, Preacher. I was just curious.” His face is expressionless for a moment before he breaks out into a deceptive smile like he expects a photo to be taken. “Anyway, come on; the sun’s coming soon. Better get some sleep while you can, Preacher.”

 

**Monday 8 th**

Someone has paid Jesse’s bail, the sergeant doesn’t tell him who. He wakes to find Cassidy crouched in the opposite corner of the cell, tucked into a pocket of relative darkness.

“Photosensitivity, Padre. It’s a bastard.” He explains. “I get an awful patchy tan too.” He laughs as Jesse stands up and walks towards the door.

“Have a good day, now, Cassidy.” Jesse casts a curious eye over the man on the floor, noticing that he lowers his sunglasses to look him in the eye when he addresses him.

“Oh I will, Padre. You too.” He pushes his sunglasses back to cover his eyes and loosens his body in the darker side of the cell. “And save me’ soul, while you’re at it, won’t ye?””

 

**Sunday 14 th.**

“It’s Sunday, Cass.”

“Aye, I know that. I can read a calendar, Padre. Do ye’ mind with the bllnd? Me eyes are sensitive.”

“Roll over then.”

“So simple, Jesse. Why didn’t I t’ink of that?” Cassidy mocks. “Strange that, with sun, if you roll over it goes away. Like responsibilities, I hear.” He laughs deeply and softly. Jesse can almost her the rumble in his chest from where he is standing.

Jesse smiles slowly, there’s an ache in his cheeks as he does so. He moves with purpose across his bedroom floor, automatically climbing back onto the bed and straddling Cassidy. He lets the lithe Irishman roll over to face him as he searches for his hands and raises them above his head to keep him still.  
“You can get up and leave if you don’t like it.” Jesse teases him, exercising his weight over Jesse to hold him down.  
“I never said that. I said I wasn’t fond of the blaring sunlight in my little eyes.” He cranes his neck up to peck Jesse on the chin. “No, don’t tell me.” He wriggles beneath Jesse. “I know what this it. This you rebelling, isn’t it? That explains the tattoos. They’re making you a bad boy.”  
“The tattoos were a few bad choices as a teenager, they’ve got nothing to do with your pretty little head getting a headache from the big, bad sun.” Jesse jests, he is growing more comfortable pushing Cassidy’s buttons. “Besides, you’re one to talk; you look like half a tapest-” There is a sudden, startling knock at the outer door. “Shh.” Jesse hisses, panicked immediately.

“I didn’t say anything.” Cassidy protests quietly in confusion.

“Shh-” He places his hand across Cassidy’s mouth quickly. Cassidy can feel Jesse’s muscles tighten as he listens with him to the footsteps outside.

“Jesse?” A female voice calls from outside.She knocks again, more forcefully this time. After a moment of no response, she speaks to the door again. “Jesse, it’s Sunday. It’s almost time for church. There’s no fear of drawing a crowd, I know, I just thought I’d come and check on you.”

“Donmfh the me, Patrhreh. Ay mo ecthacle whuh youh gohmah say.” Cassidy tries to speak but his words are muffled by Jesse’s hand, he mumbles through Emily’s one-sided dialogue at the door.

“What?” Jesse hisses gently, confused but trying to listen to Emily’s footsteps walk away from door.

“Jesse?” She walks away from the door and to window. Jesse and Cassidy listen intently to her footsteps as she ambles. Both men move to roll over against the wall and stay completely still as they hear her footsteps stop again. Jesse places a finger over Cassidy’s lips as he listens, on edge. He couldn’t explain this to her if he’d tried. “He must be in the bathroom.” Jesse can just about hear her say. “I’m sure he’ll be there.” She walks away with no sense of urgency, making his hammering heart seem to beat even faster by comparison. When he can’t hear her anymore, he removes his finger from over Cassidy’s lips.

“Don’t tell me, Padre. I know exactly what you’re gonna’ say.” Cassidy whispers, holding Jesse’s attention again. “It’s a secret, right? I get it. A man in your line of work in a place like this: it’ll be bad for business if all the old ladies know you’re taken.” He grins widely and honestly, flashing his teeth again. He doesn’t believe any of his own words even for a second. Jesse tries to laugh, reacting to Cassidy’s stifled laugh. Jesse grins languidly, tearing his body away from Cassidy’s as Cass reaches his hand up and grabs Jesse’s hard cock through his trousers. “Well, good mornin’ too.” He laughs out loud, letting Jesse go. The Reverend Custer collapses beside the laughing Irishman. “Get on with you, go take a shower.”

“I’m looking for some company, mister. It’s awful lonely in there.” Jesse whimpers in a Southern Belle tone of voice, acting up as he gets up. Cassidy tilts his head and watches as Jesse undoes his belt as he walks away, dropping his trousers before closing the door. They both grin.

-

Twenty minutes later, he appears. His collar is loose and his hair is still wet. He looks in between calm and on edge as he tucks his shirt into his waistband. The sound of soft footsteps across the floor can be heard behind Jesse’s recognisable heels on the wood. She smiles, looking up from the scripture. Emily looks across Jesse with her usual, quiet adoration mingled with sadness. She smiles sweetly and feels her heart sink a little more this time than the last.

“Jesse-” She stops him with her wary voice. “-your collar.” She touches her throat self-consciously, indicating his collar needs closing. “Your neck’s all red.”

“Oh-” Jesse hedges, remembering the smears of love bites marking his neck. “it’s-uh-sunburn.”

“Oh, okay.” Emily speaks abashedly. Her eyes grow wide as the preacher’s shy smile hits her. She leaves the church smiling. He leaves the rectory a sinner, as he does most days. He opens the doors and welcomes in his bitter and uninterested crowd. The evening can’t come quickly enough.

He opens his mouth-

 

**Friday 12 th**

Jesse remembers falling over, but not hitting the floor. Blacking out drunk in the same bar he had been arrested in less than a week previous.

 

**Saturday 13 th**

Jesse remembers with a headache, a knock on the door come the evening. He struggles up to answer it and finds that it’s dark outside. He has slept away most of the day and is greeted upon waking, or being woken, rather, by Proinsias Cassidy in his doorway.

“God be with ye’, Preacher.” He starts, grinning with a cigarette hanging out from between his teeth. Cassidy is still wearing his sunglasses despite it being the night time.

“Cassidy, was it?”

“We’ll be writing letters next.” He jokes, still standing in the doorway.

“What’re you doing here? You’re a little early for the service.”

“I waited till I t’ought you’d be awake. Plus, I had a bit of a headache meself.” His grin settles to an easy smile. “I wanted to give ye’ somethin’.”

“Post?” Jesse doesn’t mean to argue but passive aggressiveness has gotten him so far in life already that it comes naturally to him now.

“In person.”

“In person.” The reverend repeats, taking it in. Cassidy is clearly not trying to make conversation but is awkwardly trying to introduce something into the ‘conversation’ they’re having. “How’d you find me?” Jesse tries to find out more, impossibly intrigued by Cassidy.  
“It’s not much of an identity parade is it? A preacher in a town wit’ one church. Hardly a needle in a haystack, now.” Jesse smiles instinctively, becoming aware to the stupidity of his question.

“You’ve got me there. You’re the only man who’s ever b’in early to Church in these parts.” He leans back on his feet, noticing at last that they are still in the doorway. “Sorry, come in. Can I get you anything?”

“I didn’t come for the speeches, Padre, sorry. And somethin’ strong, if ye’ve got it.”

“A man on discerning taste, I see.” Jesse jokes.

“Always have been, Preacher.”

“I’ve got some whiskey?” Jesse suggests, walking slowly to find some when Cassidy nods. As he locates and pours two glasses of neat whiskey, Jesse asks Cassidy again what he came for; having woken up slightly from the cold night air. “What was it you wanted to give me?”

“Me apology.”

“I’m sorry?” Jesse’s apparent fatigue and confusion mingle in his head. They are cut through with the warm mouthful of whiskey he swallows but they remain on the surface of his mind as he watches Cassidy speak.

“I came to apologise. For biting ye’r neck up something rotten.” Cassidy is gentle with his words, uncharacteristically cautious as he looks Jesse over. “I don’t suppose ye’ve noticed yet. I trust I woke ye’. Unless ye have and ye’ve thought no’ting of it, in which case, I’ll be taking that drink and leaving.”  Cassidy’s playing it safe, he even puts out his cigarette in the ash tray on the little coffee table between the sofa and the chair.

Cassidy’s words make Jesse aware of the red marks all over his neck. Some are more purple than red, some more peach; but he hasn’t noticed them until now. He hasn’t passed a mirror with sober eyes, he would have mistaken them for shadows.

“I might be a heartless bastard, but I know a contusion when I see one.” He offers, leaning forward from the sofa. Cassidy reaches the glass on the table and raises it to Jesse before downing it in one go and setting the glass back down. “I just wanted to check I hadn’t killed ye’ off.”

“Fair’s fair, Cassidy.” Jesse utters while lightly touching his neck, feeling the bruises as he does so. He has a small moment of clarity as he remembers being walked by a body down a dirt road. He remembers seeing the cross at the top of the church in the moonlight as he tripped over a pothole. And then, he remembers kissing and being kissed against the door of the church, both he and the other pressed between corners of the shabby stonework. The muscles in his neck ache as he realises they are sore still. He is finally aware that the alcohol has worn off. “You’ve not killed me quite yet.”

“You’re lookin’ a little confused, Padre. I understand that. Let me explain-” Cassidy leans forward again.

“Come confess to me some other day.” Jesse interrupts him, leaning forward quickly; bridging the gap between the two men. He kisses him without thinking, moving more with feeling than with purpose. Jesse sinks his teeth into Cassidy’s neck, waiting for him to flinch as he sucks the tender skin of his pale throat. The pieces fall together in Jesse’s head seamlessly. It makes perfect sense to kiss the man who kissed him first. His heart thumps against his ribs as he leaves a lovebite on slim, white neck of the stranger who left more than one on him. Jesse does the maths and it just works.

“Jaysis, what kind of preacher are you?” Cassidy’s voice comes as a shock between the pants for air as he sinks his hands into Jesse’s shoulders. Jesse Custer grins and nips at Cassidy’s neck again. “I knew it! Jesse Custer: I fuckin’ knew it. I knew you weren’t your run o’ the mill man o’ the cloth. Nah, you had it in your eye. I knew it!” There was a boyish excitement to Cassidy’s words. He was babbling to try and keep on top of the sensation which was making his skin tingle. Jesse let out a low laugh against Cassidy’s skin as he pulled him closer. Cassidy grabs Jesse by the waist and lifts him up to fight for some kind of control over this situation. Jesse naturally straddles the Irishman’s waist, pushing his body down onto to his to keep him still on the sofa. “Talk about taking me to church, Preacher.” Cassidy whispers before he kisses Jesse on the mouth. Jesse wriggles but adjusts his weight, moving his arms so they rest around Cassidy’s neck and lower back as he sits up into the long kiss. The pressure of their hard-ons rubbing together hits them both like a slow-release ton of bricks as both Jesse and Cassidy moan lightly into each other’s mouth. “Now, when I said ‘take me to church, Preacher’: this is exactly what I meant.” Cassidy tries to laugh breathlessly, tipping Jesse back against his arms as he leans forwards, moving his lips down to his chest bone, letting the man in black push his hips down into his own. Cassidy gasps briefly, letting his lips fall open into the sharp kiss he places on Jesse’s sore neck.

“Be quiet, Cassidy.” Jesse murmurs impatiently as he pulls Cassidy’s head up to his and kisses him again deeply. As the tension becomes unbearable, Jesse ease his body off Cassidy’s and stands up, taking Cassidy’s right hand in his own. He walks the thin Irishman into his bedroom, kissing as lazily as they do passionately when they fall onto Jesse’s low bed.  Their hands climb over each other as they try and get undressed. In bitten off words, Cassidy offers to suck him off but Jesse declines as he feels the dead weight of tired crawl back over his bones. Cassidy sinks his teeth over Jesse’s collarbone as a polite acceptance of his tiredness and leaves a hard kiss on Jesse’s stomach. Jesse rolls Cassidy over half-heartedly as he offers to suck him off.

“That’s very kind of you, Padre.” Cassidy whispers into Jesse’s ear. “But I don’t want you falling asleep down there and leaving a mark.” Jesse laughs tiredly, feeling his arms buckle beneath him from trying to support his weight for too long at an awkward angle over Cassidy’s body. Cassidy catches Jesse as best he can. “Ooh, ye’ bastard.” He coughs as Jesse’s sudden weight winds him. He can feel the dull laugh in Jesse’s throat and chest vibrating against his chest. He pushes Jesse off him but keep him close, letting them both just lie there. The feeling of quietness that befalls them as they lay in each others arms is calming and it weighs them both into the bed sheets. They fall asleep before the dawn, tangled into each other.

 

**Sunday 14 th **

The evening comes around and Cassidy relaxes. He can get rid of the stupid but comfortable blanket he’s draped over his shoulders. He rolls over onto his side until he is tucked against Jesse Custer’s lightly sleeping body. Cassidy decides it’s time to leave.

“Jess.” He hisses softly. Jesse twitches. “Jesse.” He says again, speaking slightly louder this time.

“Mm?” Jesse grumbles, not entirely aware of what’s happening as Cassidy rouses him from his slumber.

“Jesse Custer.” Cassidy whispers, more insistently, as he raises his body comfortably over Jesse’s; leaning his weight on his forearms either side of the reverend’s head. He looks down on Jesse with doe eyes as he tries to get his attention.

“Mmhm.” Jesse makes another noise, waking up slowly from the displacement of weight and heat in his bed. He opens his eyes with some force. “What is it, Cass?” His mouth is dry and his words don’t come out very clearly.

“Before the sun comes up and gives me a headache, and before I get to play another fascinatin’ round of hide and seek with the lovely Miss Emily, I’m leaving.”

“What?” Jesse becomes more conscious.

“I’m off. I don’t want to ruin your reputation, now.” He smiles gently. Jesse reaches up and runs his hand through Cassidy’s short but tangled hair.

“You’re not. You’re fine.” Jesse’s accent is stronger when he isn’t aware of it. “Come back to bed.”

“I’ll be back.” Cassidy justifies, leaning his head down to press a small kiss between Jesse’s eyes. “But, keep a lid on it, eh, Preacher?” Cassidy smiles with heart. Jesse’s tired eyes strain to stay open to read Cassidy’s lips in the low light. The weight of sleep pulls his eyelids back down, shuttering off the moonlight intermittently. “And pray for me, won't ye.” He listens and feels his skin tingle. ‘ _Pray to who?’_ He wonders silently. Cassidy touches two fingers to Jesse's split and swollen lower lip, examining it. "Guys like me have a habit of getting in a bad way." Jesse pulls Cassidy down for a brief kiss before feeling the younger Irishman move off him. “Places to be, people to see.” Cassidy laughs quietly, shuffling on his discarded shirt and picking up his shoes as he walks towards the door as he talks. “Be seein’ ye around, Padre. You get some sleep, now.”


End file.
